“You don’t know much about cars, do you?” I said.

She spun around to face me. “Put your hand out.”

I did and she slapped the tool in my palm. Hard. “Why don’t you take a shot at it, Mr. Handyman? Show me what you got.”

I looked at the wrench in bemusement. There had been a ghost of a smile on her lips. Just a tiny one, and maybe she would have given it to any human, but I’d seen it. I’d take it. “Okay.”

She moved aside, and I slid in next to her, closer than we’d been at our lockers. I stared down at her, fucking weak in the knees as I lingered on her lips. The lipstick from earlier was gone, leaving her lips bare, but they were still plump and soft. My hands itched to grasp her face and pull her to me, to press my mouth to hers until I couldn’t breathe, until she begged me for air.

Swallowing, I edged away. I could never have those lips again.

She shivered, hugging herself.

“If you wore more clothes, you wouldn’t be cold,” I said pointedly.

“If you’d stop talking, my car might get fixed.”

I got stupidly giddy at the tartness in her voice because it was banter. Sparring with her had always been part of our fun. And then the sadness hit, and because this day was messed up royally already, I opened my mouth and said the wrong thing.

“I miss you, Dovey,” I said flatly. Feeling defeated. Knowing my words wouldn’t count, but needing to voice it. “Most girls suck up. You never have.”

“I never cared about who you were or how much money you had,” she replied, her voice dull like mine. She rubbed her arms again.

“My jacket’s in the car.” I didn’t wait for her to answer but ran to my car and grabbed a black wool car coat, nice and thick. “Here,” I said, shoving it in her hands. I wanted to drape it over her shoulders, but didn’t push my luck. Not with that wary look on her face.

She peered down at it and then gazed back at me. Something fragile flickered in her eyes as she handed it back. “I’m not cold,” she said softly.

“Your arms are covered in goose bumps. It’s forty degrees out here, and you’re nearly naked.”

“Cuba, don’t be nice to me. I don’t want your jacket. Ever.”

I startled, déjà vu smacking me in the face, remembering another day when she’d taken my varsity jacket.

I tried to make a joke. “It’s not the same jacket.” She didn’t smile, and I nodded. “Fine. I get it. You’d rather freeze.” I took it out of her hands, and she glanced away from me, still holding herself.

I asked her what happened with the car, and she explained she’d been warming it up when she noticed the temperature gauge spike. Then smoke came from under the hood.

After a few minutes checking out her engine, I figured out the problem. “Radiator hose is busted which isn’t too bad, but you really need a new car. This one’s ready for the junkyard.”

She stiffened. “Cars don’t grow on trees, but you with all your millions, you have no clue. So, back off.”

I immediately wanted to crawl under a rock. Perhaps I was spoiled when it came to money, but she was richer in other things. She had hope.

I rubbed my jaw. “I’ll take care of this.” I dug my cell from my track pants and called the local garage where Dad had our cars serviced. I talked to the manager briefly, explained what I’d seen, and they promised to get a tow truck out in the next twenty minutes. I hung up, feeling a sense of satisfaction.

She scowled at me. “Why did you do that? Why do you assume I want your help? And FYI, I don’t have the money to pay a mechanic from Highland Park. Call him back and tell him to forget it. He won’t get a dime from me. I can buy my own hose and put it on myself.”

I arched a brow. “Admit it, you don’t know anything about hoses. You banged on your car like it was a drum.”

She huffed. “It’s a hose. How hard can it be?”

“Yeah, but as much as you drive, you need a real mechanic to take a look. And I can pay for it. You probably—Who are you calling?” I asked as she walked away from me and pulled out her cell.

“Spider. So he can come get me and take me home.”

Oh, hell no.

“I’ll take you home,” I growled, my jaw tightening.

She shook her head. “Nope. It’s out of the way for you. Plus he knows where I live.”

Oh, that last part pissed me off.

“Dovey—”

She threw her hand up to silence me, opened her mouth to talk on the phone, and I lost it a little, okay, maybe a lot. But it was that kind of day. For some reason, my gut told me I had to be the one to take her home, not Spider.

I grabbed her phone and hung up on Spider. I needed her to give me a chance.

For what? I asked myself.

She sputtered, “You’re insane.”

Maybe. Probably. I tucked her phone in my pocket. “I’m taking you home.”

Her brow wrinkled. “I’m not your charity case.”

I’d started packing up her tools, but I paused to meet her eyes. “I meant what I said. I am sorry. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but at least let me take you home. Just this one thing.”

She mulled it over, nibbling on her lip. “I am in a hurry to get home, but this doesn’t mean you’re paying for my car to be fixed.”

Oh, yes it does.

“Whatever you say,” I stated, feeling a glimmer of exhilaration slice through me at the thought of being alone in a car with her.